


I Want To Confess

by Auggusst



Series: Heart and Mind [10]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alpha Steve Rogers, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, Bond Sickness, Depression, Guilt, M/M, Nomad Steve Rogers, On the Run, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Sadness, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Text Messages, except for when he wants to talk, hiding out, mention of masturbation, mention of ruts, moping, poor steve just wants to work everything out, tony doesnt want to talk, tony wont let him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:33:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24186688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Auggusst/pseuds/Auggusst
Summary: Steve wants nothing more than to properly apologize, to make Tony understand. Maybe it'll make them both feel better, stop the Bond Sickness from ruining them entirely. Tony won't give him the chance.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Series: Heart and Mind [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1670740
Comments: 58
Kudos: 245





	I Want To Confess

**Author's Note:**

> And I oop! Kind of shorter than I wanted, but I think Tony's side is a little more interesting, in terms of this series. You can't blame me for being screen time biased 💀
> 
> Also I know you all love it when Steve suffers but boy, I'm sad 😭

Things did get worse, as Steve anticipated. Time stretched on, unfortunately, no matter how much he wished it would cease to exist. He wished he could go back in time, that he could change all of this, that everything would be different, but he couldn’t. He had to keep carrying on, unfortunately, no matter how hard it was, no matter how his will was slipping away slowly, like grains of sand in an hourglass.

He had the mission to distract him, at least. It took three weeks to track down and retrieve the vials of liquid that were capable of triggering a worldwide pandemic and to safely dispose of them, and to apprehend, or put down, the Hydra dogs who intended on using them. Their journey led them to the Ukraine, and ended with a spectacular firefight, which resulted in a building collapsing, a massive explosion, and a couple of wounded bystanders. The team had to flee the scene almost immediately, and although it didn’t sit well with Steve having to leave the civilians behind to handle clean up themselves, it was the only way to get the job done nowadays.

Footage was all over the news within a matter of hours unfortunately, and the team had to do their best to stay hidden. They vacated their current hotel room, gathered their meager belongings, and headed out. They ended up camping out in the wilderness for a day or two, hidden under the cover of the Quinjet’s stealth tech, and waited for it all to blow over. Getting caught by the UN now would surely be disastrous, and the threat of capture only grew with each passing week. More than once Steve had caught articles online, advertisements in the cities they visited. He never thought there’d be a “See Something, Say Something” poster in regards to him, but then again, he never thought he’d be here, on the run, and away from Tony.

He missed him so much it hurt. When he slept, he dreamt of him, and when he woke, he thought about him. It was hard to focus on anything else. On top of that, he was starting to feel worse physically. Despite his serum, which was designed to keep him in peak health, there was exhaustion in his core that never seemed to abate, and it was getting harder to focus in general. He relied more on his instincts than before, had a tendency to avoid conversation when he could.

Sometimes it was a little hard to breathe, like a weight was lying directly on his lungs, like he had asthma again. The similarity in sensation scared him a little, especially when his instincts started to go a little haywire when he didn’t get enough sleep, when it started to get harder to differentiate between friend and foe, when it became harder to trust. Steve could hardly trust himself anymore, so how could he trust those around him, his hindbrain rationed. There was no doubt that his thoughts, his suspicion, was a product of his Bond Sickness, a shift in his biology that came from the extensive separation. God, it had been hard to stay away from Tony for a few days before all of this. Now, he hadn’t seen, or heard his mate’s voice in _months_.

He thought about leaving, honestly. He thought about finding some place to stay, by himself, so he could succumb to whatever he may. What would he do there, though? How would he live? Here, he at least had distraction. Without it, Steve was sure he couldn’t survive at all. The others noticed the change, of course. They could see the downturn of his health, the way he seemed to be off-kilter, and how it was becoming difficult to keep control. Sam was a little frustrated by it, honestly. Things were getting harder by the day, and Steve seemed less than enthusiastic about continuing to lead them, even when they were clearly doing good work, despite the damage it sometimes brought.

Steve _needed_ to lead them though. Sam needed him to. They’d followed him because they believed in him, trusted him to make the right choices, and he had to continue doing that, regardless of how he felt. Steve didn’t seem to trust himself anymore though, was too caught up in the past, and it made moving forward supremely difficult. There was no way back from it unfortunately. What was done was done, and they had all made their choice, had chosen this path. It wasn’t fair of Steve to back down from it now, to spend every second burning with regret. How could the rest of them carry on if their leader didn’t believe in his mission anymore? Sam tried to comfort Steve as best as he could, tried reminding him that they needed him, but it never seemed to work.

Natasha and Wanda had similar concerns. Almost four months on the run, and it was already becoming exhausting, living like this. Natasha was used to it, had plenty of _years_ like this under her belt, but the others? Well, it was more than a little uncomfortable. Even she wasn’t really enjoying it, especially not with the way Steve was acting, with the obvious way he struggled. She thought about reaching out, honestly, of trying to cut a deal with Secretary Ross, if only to end the bullshit. As good as a negotiator as she was, though, she knew it would be to no avail. Steve probably wouldn’t agree to whatever terms she would come back with, anyway. He was stubborn, always had been, and although that stubbornness made him a good leader, it was starting to make her wonder if they’d made the right choice, and she didn’t like how that felt at all.

At least there was _some_ communication between Steve and Tony, she’d gathered. He was more than a little obsessed with the flip phone he’d bought, opened and closed it constantly, sent messages, waited, sent more messages. Sometimes he received one, and practically dropped everything to read it. More than once he’d stopped in the middle of a conversation to look at a text. The next step never seemed to be made, though. From what Natasha gathered, it wasn’t really a conversation between the two, it was more like status sharing. They hadn’t shared a phone call either. Steve insisted he had tried, more than once, but Tony would never answer.

She did wonder how he was doing, despite everything. She often recalled their last conversation, the hurt in his eyes as they argued, and the things she’d said to him before she left. She thought about how angry he made her, thought that he was out of his mind then. As the days went on, she was starting to feel a little guilty about that too. Maybe Tony had been right after all. Maybe they were the ones in the wrong. Nat tried to bury that guilt. It wouldn’t change anything now, and it would only distract her from their missions. Someone had to keep their head on straight after all, if Steve couldn’t.

Of course Steve was obsessed with the flip phone. Of course he waited, constantly, for it to vibrate, for a little message to come in. They were never substantial messages, unfortunately. Every time Steve tried to turn them into a real conversation, tried to work things out, Tony would disappear, would refuse to answer, and then the waiting game would begin all over again. The message was clear: Tony didn’t want to talk about any of it. That was more than a little frustrating. Steve would take what little contact he could though, even if it was driving him to insanity.

He felt like he was tied to the end of a rope in Tony’s hands, that the brunet could tug it at whim, but slacken his grip whenever Steve was pulled close, that he would take steps back, widen the distance between them again. It gave him a little whiplash, really. He tried to fathom the reason, tried to understand. Tony obviously still cared about him, still _thought_ about him, or else he wouldn’t text at all. So, why wouldn’t he take the next step? Why couldn’t they truly speak?

As time went on, more and more concerns filled him. His most recent Rut and come and gone, its grasp on him severely limited thanks to some suppressants they’d snagged in an Apothecary shop in Switzerland, and although he was sure Tony had done the same, used medication to cope with his next Heat, he couldn’t help but feel lost, feel lonely at the revelation. Their cycles had always been intense, something entirely private, a time where the two focused on each other and nothing else. He remembered the last time they’d lain together, how intense it was, how perfect. He yearned for Tony’s touch, to kiss him, softly, deeply, to make up for everything that had happened, for the suffering he had caused. At this rate, he doubted he’d ever have the chance again.

Having to jerk off a handful of times in a Hostel bathroom every day for a week, without his mate at his side, felt wrong, and unsatisfying, like a perversion of everything they’d shared. For his next Rut, he doubled the dosage of medication.

Steve sighed. It was the middle of the night, and he couldn’t sleep, had tried and failed to do so for hours now. He felt achy, a little feverish honestly. That feeling came and went often, but he doubted his body could stave it off forever, and knew that eventually it would be a permanent sensation. He wasn’t looking forward to that.

He scrolled through the catalog of messages on his phone; he had a habit of doing so. There weren’t that many messages, really, but enough that he couldn’t quite memorize them.

[It rained today.]

[Be sure to change the coolant in the Quinjet.]

[There’s a rumor you’re in Italy. By tomorrow, don’t be.]

[I really can’t stand you. Do you know that?]

[You’re an idiot.]

[Be careful. UN is on high alert.]

[Still making messes, I see.]

[I hope you and Him are very happy right now.]

[Sometimes I wish I never let you touch me.]

[I hope you’re safe.]

The list went on, and Tony’s hostility ebbed and flowed alongside the messages. Steve couldn’t blame him. He would be upset too, if the situation was reversed. He supposed he understood why Tony didn’t really want to speak to him, but at the same time, wouldn’t it make things better? Tony was surely in a similar state by now, was surely sick. Was he suffering? Was it worse than how Steve felt? How bad was it? He doubted he would get an answer if he asked. Still, if working things out, if communicating could stop some of the pain, shouldn’t they? Wouldn’t it make things easier on both of them? Apparently Tony didn’t think so. But Tony had always been stubborn. It was a trait they shared, honestly, and one of many. Just another reason they were _well matched_ , he supposed. It didn’t seem to make things any easier, obviously.

He remembered Tony’s hesitance to even getting together in the first place, a few years ago. He remembered practically begging for the chance to try it out, trying to convince Tony that it could work, that they could be good together. The brunet had been so sure that Steve would tire of him, that things wouldn’t work out and that it would be Tony’s fault. He was so sure that he wouldn’t be good for Steve. Little did they know that it would be _Steve_ who ruined everything in the end, would split them apart. Life really was full of irony.

The blond sniffled a little, brushed a hand over his face and sighed. His eyes stung, and he could feel a lump forming in his throat. Crying wouldn’t do him any good though, it never did. Before all of this, he hadn’t really been much of a crier. He could always suppress his pain, always had Tony there to settle him. Now, what did he have? He knew his team did their best, that they tried to keep him functioning, but he couldn’t help but feel their efforts were wasted. Every day he could feel himself falling a little more. The fight was slowly being drained out of him.

Steve sighed, ran his thumb over the little buttons on his phone. The others were asleep, he knew, so there wasn’t anyone to talk to. He didn’t know what to say to them really. He doubted any of them could truly understand what it was like. He suspected they were finally starting to realize the truth too, that they made a mistake in following him, and although the idea initially made him happy, it just made him feel worse now.

Something tugged at his heartstrings now, and the blond found himself hitting the ‘new message’ option. He didn’t really expect Tony to answer him this time. He hadn’t gotten a proper response since the day he beat that Hydra goon into pulp over a month ago and his mate spared him a handful of words. The memory of that day still burned Steve up, when he thought about it, but nothing similar had happened since. It was truly the way Wustler had spoken about Tony that made Steve snap, that made it impossible to keep control over himself. No one else had pushed him like that again thus far, which was good. Steve was sure if he were pushed again, he wouldn’t want to, or wouldn’t be able to, hold himself back.

He tried not to think about it now. Instead, he typed out his message and hit ‘send.’

[Do you hate me?]

He thought he could anticipate the answer. He thought he _deserved_ the answer, deserved to be hated. He had lost Tony’s love, given it up really, and was sure he would never get it back. Was it kind of masochistic to ask Tony to spell it out for him? Maybe. But Steve had never had a good sense of self-preservation. It was what led to him making so many mistakes.

He waited. The minutes went on, and he was sure Tony wouldn’t even afford him an answer, would let him sit there in suspension for a few days, until he sent a message of his own, fully intent on ignoring any response given. It was kind of petty, honestly, that he did it again and again, but Tony deserved to be petty, Steve supposed.

The phone vibrated and his heart jumped in his chest.

[No.]

Steve exhaled softly, somewhat in relief. Maybe this was the time. Maybe Tony would _finally_ be willing to communicate.

[Can we please talk? Have an actual conversation? Please, I just want to explain it all.]

The reply came quickly, a lot quicker than he expected.

[No.]

Steve frowned, and an all too familiar ache settled in his chest. He sent another message.

[Tony… Please.]

He was met with silence this time, true silence. He didn’t receive another text. That was it, he supposed. The brunet was unwilling to say anymore, wouldn’t give Steve any more than he already had at the moment.

Steve sighed, snapped the phone closed. Every time he thought things were going to change, that they were coming towards a breakthrough, Tony refused, and cut him off. Steve hated it. He hated how it felt, how it tore him up every time. He hated that his eyes were tearing up now. He hated that he cried more often than not, whenever he had privacy.

“Fuck…” the blond muttered, covering his face with his arm. His breathing turned shaky, and his tears welled up. He felt cold, and empty, and the bed he was lying on more so. He wished he were home. He wished none of it had ever happened. He wished he’d had the sense to stand down, to find another way. He wished he had listened to Tony.

Wishing wouldn’t get him anywhere now though, and that just made Steve feel worse.

He substituted the phone in his hand for the t-shirt he’d pilfered from the Quinjet, which belonged to Tony. His hands were tight around the fabric, like he would die if he let it go. Somehow, he felt he would.

Steve turned in his bed, shut his eyes tight and inhaled. The scent was fading, already, after only a few weeks. Sooner or later, it wouldn’t smell like Tony at all anymore, and then what would he have left? How could he go on like this forever? Would things ever go back to the way they were? Or would he be alone, without Tony, for the rest of his life? Steve didn’t know the answer, and suddenly it was impossible to hold his tears back.

“I’m sorry,” Steve whispered, as if the brunet could hear him, and he was.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please leave your thoughts!!


End file.
